Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [247]
Wednesday, September 7th Southwold
Drinking fourth coffee of the morning, on arrival at Southwold, when the phone rings. It’s Jimmy Gilbert. He’s seen the playback of ‘Moorstones’ and thinks that the audience reaction is so good that it would be a waste not to use it. Quotes Aubrey Singer, the head of BBC2, who has told Jimmy that they have had a 100% failure rate on BBC2 on comedy shows with no laughter.
Mother seems well. She worries more as she gets older, but seems to have many more regular friends than when Dad was alive. Her chief worry is whether to move into the centre of Southwold or not and the feeling of isolation out at Reydon.
Monday, September 12th
It gave me real pleasure to visit Neal’s Yard today. The sun was shining, there was a crisp and clear September freshness in the air. The builders were at work completing the restaurant on one side of the Neal’s Yard triangle, and the wholefood store was busy sorting sacks of brown rice on the other. A bustle of activity, of which Redwood is a part.
Next door to Redwood is ALS – Associated London Scripts – a rather chic reception area leading to agents for Denis Norden and many others. And at almost the apex of the triangle, the rich mix is completed by White’s the Armourers!
André [Jacquemin] and I listened to his compilation so far of the new Python album material. It sounds rather good – tightly packed Python gems. After discussion of the contents, I leave André to finish putting it all together – he’ll drop a cassette in to me at home and we can edit further after that.
Up to sunny Belsize Park for a very hard game of squash with Terry, followed by a trip to the Flask.
Al Alvarez is in the Flask. Terry offers the literary lion the first edition of The Vole. Alvarez’ eyes don’t exactly light up. ‘Oh yes … it’s Richard Boston’s thing, isn’t it?’Terry, glad at least of some positive reaction, affirms. ‘… He’s such a tit, isn’t he?’ muses the poetry critic of The Observer as he flicks through.
Alvarez seems very cynical about the readership – ‘city countrymen’ he calls them, uncharitably. But I know what he means, in a way.
Tuesday, September 13th, San Sebastian
To San Sebastian today for the 25th SS Film Festival – in which Jabberwocky rears its beautifully-shot head in the ‘New Creators’ section. (‘New Creators’ sounds like some awful Biblical quiz game in which contestants have seven days to … etc, etc.)
Wednesday, September 14th, San Sebastian
As I soaked in my bath this morning, reading with admiration Kingsley Amis’ Ending Up, I had a flash of inspiration. For my next project I would try and write a novel. A book. On my own. Cheered with relief and excitement at this simple solution.
After a breakfast of eggs, bacon, croissant and coffee, Terry, Hilary1 and I drove to the eastern part of town, where we eventually found the Savoy Cinema, in an unremarkable street of shops and houses and garages. I really couldn’t imagine who would come out to see a film here at what is, for the Spanish, almost crack of dawn. But amazingly some forty or fifty Spaniards – definitely non-press and non film people, some of them students, some looking like lorry drivers – arrive in this improbable street at breakfast time to watch Jabberwocky.
At least they’re rewarded with a very good print, but there are no subtitles. It must be totally mystifying to them.
We went into a coffee bar next to the cinema. Met a young, curly-haired English producer, who was showing a rather remarkable film (after ours) at the Savoy at twelve. It was a documentary account of how a small village-full of Portuguese peasants coped with an almost overnight transition from being vassals of a feudal baron to free men, during the liberation period of the early 1970s.
Tremendous feeling of history in the making. What power to the people means. A fascinating document, with